


slow ride

by iihappydaysii



Series: 1980-Something [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 1980s AU, Alternate Universe, Bottom Brian, Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Gay Club, Gender swapped Brianna, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Music, Top John, Underage Drinking, brian is a nerd, but we love him, john is jamie's best friend, mentions of black jack randall, threatened sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/pseuds/iihappydaysii
Summary: It’s 1980-something and Brian Randall is shocked to see his birth father’s best friend, John Grey, when he goes to his first gay club.
Relationships: (gender swapped Brianna), Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Lord John Grey/Brian Randall, Lord John Grey/Brianna Randall Fraser MacKenzie, unrequited/mentioned
Series: 1980-Something [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685605
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	slow ride

**Author's Note:**

> oh i just love writing jamie having a gay son lol if you want more brian/john go check out my long canon verse fic what a wonderful world (this would be)
> 
> this fic is for the making love square on the bingo card for the outlander bingo challenge
> 
> Thanks so much for the beta, DriveableCar !!

The sound of George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” pulsed through the atmosphere like a living thing, Brian Randall’s nervous heart beating right along with it. The bodies surrounding him moved like ocean waves. Sweaty, muscular male oceans waves, touching each other, skin against skin. 

Brian felt out of place, to say the least. He was wearing acid wash jeans his mom had bought him, a He Man sweatshirt and his white Nike Pump-Ups. Meanwhile, his fellow patrons wore half-open silk shirts or vests with nothing underneath. One guy had on a hot pink mesh tank top and a silver hoop gleamed from his left nipple like a hook in a trout’s mouth.

Instinctively, he reached to his own chest. That wasn’t like a requirement, was it? A homosexual right of passage? He hoped not. Because he was definitely gay and definitely didn’t have the pain tolerance for nipple piercings.

Brian had come to the startling realization of his sexuality about two weeks into freshman year of high school. He had been in the boys’ locker room, dressing for gym class, when he noticed the junior varsity baseball team standing under the rain of the showers. At the sight, his stomach sank. This sudden sinking was followed promptly by a conspicuous boner and the coherent thought: _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

It had taken him a long time to accept it though, even longer to do anything about it. He buried himself deep into school or video games. Mostly video games. He was a goddamn Pac Man champion at this point. He’d spent four years sitting in his best friend Phaedra’s basement wearing out the buttons on her Atari and daring each other to eat spoonfuls of dry Tang. It was a fine enough life, then she went off to stupid Stanford, leaving him here at Harvard, with no distraction from the crippling reality that he was gay.

So, alas, it had all culminated in this moment. With Brian Randall standing alone in the Beefsteak Gentleman’s Club with a velcro wallet full of condoms. Six to be precise. He really didn’t know how many he’d need, and during that one summer as a Boy Scout, he’d learned to be prepared. 

He swallowed through a tight throat, then scanned the crowd. He could go dance, press his way into the deep and just disappear into it. But God, he was already feeling seasick.

Brian wandered away from the human ocean to the bar. The resin counter gleamed in the swirling bright lights, making him dizzy too. A slender man with his long white hair in a ponytail stood behind the bar, shining a glass with a rag.

“What can I get you, Carrot Top?”

Brian ignored the nickname. He didn’t like it, but he was used to people commenting on his ginger curls. And, at least, this man didn’t have a tone of disdain or mockery in his voice as some do.

He considered for a moment. Brian had only ever had cheap beer in plastic cups or sips of his mom’s wine, he had no idea what to order at a bar. He gaped oddly at the white-haired man, before remembering a cocktail he’d heard ordered at a bar in a movie once, “Uh, long island iced tea?” he said. He could use some iced tea right now anyway. He hadn’t much to drink this evening and was feeling a bit dehydrated. 

Brian stood there awkwardly at the bar, nervousness creeping up his spine. It was an eighteen and up club, but he was still only twenty. He kept picturing the cops crawling down the walls with grappling hooks to sweep him off to prison like his birth father.

Not that Jamie went to jail for underage drinking. If only… Brian was fourteen when he started to suspect that Frank Randall wasn’t related to him by blood. Fifteen when he realized who his real father actually was.

That day, Brian had been sitting in front of the television, eating Mr. T cereal dry from the box. The new episode of Charlie’s Angels had just finished and some documentary came on about serial killers. He couldn’t find the remote so he just sat there watching it, listening to the sordid details of sex and torture and death in North Carolina. Then, they’d shown a photograph of the man responsible, and there, on the screen, Brian saw himself staring back at him. Older, angrier, but still, it was like looking in a goddamn carnival mirror. Instantly, he’d turned and vomited Mr. T cereal all over his mother’s carpet. 

“Here you go, sweetheart,” the bartender said, sliding a tall glass filled with what looked exactly like his mother’s sun tea. He thanked the bartender and sipped the liquid. He coughed, his throat squeezing. Not because it tasted bad—it didn’t—but because it tasted nothing at all like iced tea. It tasted of coke and lemons and oranges. Brian took another long drink.

The warm liquor pushed thoughts of those years of silence away, when he knew, but didn’t speak. He never researched Jamie Fraser beyond that episode of television. Didn’t believe that he could bear it. Instead, he shoved the knowledge deep down inside himself and locked it away. And then Dad died… and mom sat him down and everything just spilled out of him like toxic waste.

Whatever the hell was in this tea-less iced tea, Brian gulped more back and was grateful for the burn. When he’d finished the first, another arrived promptly.

“Oh, I didn’t order—“

The bartender tossed a look over his shoulder and Brian followed it to a man in jeans, boots and a green flannel. He had a rakish grin and swath of fair hair on his head. He swaggered over to Brian.

“Uh, thanks for the drink.”

“Ya looked like ya could use it,” the man had an obvious Irish accent. “Stephan,” he held out a hand. “But everyone calls me Bonnet.”

Brian gave him an awkward smile, thinking woozily of the condoms in his wallet, and extended his own hand. Bonnet took it and gave it a firm shake. He let his fingers drag slowly across Brian’s palm to his wrist, making something slither in his belly that made him pull away.

“So,” Bonnet asked. “What’s a handsome man like ya do far a livin’?”

Brian took another long slug of his drink. “Uh, I go to Harvard. I’m a history major.”

“Shit, yar a brainy lad, then?”

“I guess.” Brian kept drinking. “What do you do?” It was only polite to return the question.

“Me? Oh, well, I’m a merchant sailor, I am,” he said.

Brian almost laughed at that. It didn’t feel like a real thing to be in the 1980s, but then he didn’t really expect the men here to tell the truth about their lives. It wasn’t like Brian was going to tell them that the man who raised him died six months ago or that his mom already moved back in with his birth father. A man who he never even knew until four months ago because he had spent Brian’s entire life in a state penitentiary. 

_Another drink. Another fucking drink._

He didn’t even have to ask, Bonnet quickly gifted him another. Brian wasn’t dumb enough to think there was any reason besides the one between his legs that had Bonnet plying him with drinks. This man wasn’t really his type… if he had one of those, but he wasn’t sure that mattered? The Long Island Iced Teas were giving him a nice, lightheaded buzz that was quickly turning into a roar. 

They were talking about something—God knew what—and Bonnet kept putting his hand on Brian’s arm. He should probably like it more than he did. The man wasn’t horrible looking. Still, he felt strangely grateful for the thickness of his He Man sweatshirt that kept Bonnet from actually touching his skin.

After a fourth drink, Brian had Bonnet asking him to follow him. To the dance floor, he’d assumed. As packed as it was, he still _liked_ dancing and the music would probably be good here, if it wasn’t quite so loud. Though he _was_ more into Led Zeppelin than well… he wasn’t quite sure who they were playing now.

They were in a back hall of the Beefsteak before it registered in Brian’s drink-addled mind that he’d not been led onto the dance floor. Instead, he’d ended up in a strange corridor that smelled like sweat and… he was pretty sure semen.

“There ya are, Bonnet,” said a barrel-chested man with a bushy beard. “What did ya catch far us tonight?”

Brian blinked, his stomach churning. The instinct to run flooding through him. He was suddenly very glad he’d worn his sneakers—not that he ever wore anything else—in case he had to make a quick getaway. In junior high, he’d come in third place in a track competition. He hoped that would pay off tonight. 

Even drunk, he did try to step away from Bonnet’s hands and leering gaze. “I’m meeting a friend soon,” he’d managed to lie. “I need to go find him.”

Then, Bonnet gripped his arm tight. Even through the sweatshirt, he could feel the pressure turning into pain. 

“Let go,” Brian snapped, panic roiling in his gut.

“Ya know now, laddie, I don’t think that I will,” Bonnet breathed hot against his ear. “Ya owe me for all those drinks.” He looked back over his shoulder at his barrel-chested companion. “Ya figure he owes me, don’t he?”

The man leered horribly. “Why, yes I do.”

“You guys are fucked up,” Brian spat and shoved hard against Bonnet to get away.

Bonnet nailed him with a fist in the ribs, knocking the breath out of him. 

Fear set in hard now. What the hell was about to happen? What the absolute fuck had he gotten himself into? He could’ve been home now, watching Gilligan’s Island reruns. Not here, unsteady, head spinning, a big man shoving down his shoulders, while Bonnet worked open his flies.

“What the fuck is going on?” came an Englishman’s voice. “Let him go.”

“Evening, Detective. Do ya mind? Ya can have the kid after we’re finished wit em.”

Brian heard the distinct click of the safety being snapped back on a gun and that gun being leveled directly at the Irishman. “Bonnet, you sick piece of shit. If you don’t button up your goddamn trousers and get the hell out of here, I’ll shoot you and your friend and dump your body in the harbor like you’re tea and it’s Seventeen Seventy Fucking Six. Seeing as I’ll be the one charged with looking for your body, I have a feeling you won’t be found.”

Bonnet zipped up his jeans and spat at the Englishman’s feet—Brian still hadn’t managed a good look at him. Bonnet and his henchman stomped away.

“Are you alright?” the man asked with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Brian dusted himself off and tried to regain both his breath and his composure. _What mother fucking assholes._ “Yes, I’m… “ He looked up at his rescuer and at first, he was staggered by the man’s good looks—dark hair, blue eyes ringed like a sun with soft lines—but then it hit him. He knew this guy. His birth father’s best friend. He’d even had something of a crush since he met him when he went to dinner with his mom and Jamie. “Oh _shit_. John Grey? Fuck, I’m not… this isn’t… fuck.”

John could tell Jamie. He could tell his mom. This could be a disaster of absolutely epic proportions. 

The man smiled gently. “Brian, you can relax. I’m here too, aren’t I?”

“Oh, right.” Brian let out a breath to release the building tension in his body. “I guess you are.”

John seemed to hesitate, but then he laid his hand—the one with the sapphire ring—on Brian’s arm. “Did those men? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no. I mean not much. You got here in time.” He rubbed at a sore spot between his ribs. “Assholes.”

John leaned against the wall and smiled at him. “You come here a lot?” 

Brian considered lying to sound cool and mature, but he was pretty sure cool flew out the window when John had to come over here and rescue him like he was a damsel in distress. “First time, actually.”

John nudged him. “I thought so. You have that first time look about you.”

“ _Hey._ ”

“That’s not a bad thing. I don’t come here often myself. I was just feeling…” his voice drifted off and the man looked out to the crowd of jostling, muscular bodies.

Brian tried to help him out. “Horny?” 

John snort-laughed. “I was going to say lonely, but yes. There’s also that.”

Brian stood there, swaying for a moment, those long island ice teas still leaving his brain sloshing around in his skull. 

John’s warm voice—warm like alcohol, he thought, dazedly—broke through Brian’s muddled thoughts. “What do you say we go somewhere to get you…” those blue eyes examined Brian with a piercing focus, “dried out?”

Brian swallowed and licked the roof of his mouth. “Like back to _your_ place?”

John choked on a laugh. “I was thinking that 24 hour diner on the corner. They make… adequate coffee.”

“Oh, okay.” Brian felt suddenly defeated. He’d come to a club, gotten drunk and nearly felt up by strangers, but he was still being escorted out of here by his father’s best friend. _At least, Jamie’s best friend has a face like a Greek God…_ “Good idea.”

He took a step towards the front door, then tripped over his own big sneakers, knocking directly into John. “Brian, can you walk without support?”

 _Maybe._ But then, his stomach did that knotty-flippy thing it had done when he was crammed in the back of Jamie’s trans-am with John on their way to Jake the Pizza King’s, their calves pressed together. 

“Absolutely not.” He put more weight on John, so John would have to support him with even more of his strength.

“Oh, Brian.” John shook his head, but gave Brian an arm for support, and led him out of the Beefsteak into the late night Boston air.

. . . 

When Grey came upon Bonnet and his crew of delinquents and seen the face of their most recent mark, his first thought had been _Dear God in Heaven, that’s Jamie Fraser’s son._ His second thought had been _If Jamie’s son is here, at the Beefsteak, then Jamie’s son is…oh, bloody hell._

There was no way on God’s earth Jamie Fraser knew his son was gay. Fraser was his closest friend, but that was entirely despite his sexuality. It had certainly been a hurdle to overcome in their friendship. He knew how much Jamie loved Brian, how much hope he’d had for his only son, if he knew Brian was ‘cursed’—his word, often his word—in the same way that Grey was… it would probably break his heart.

Still, Grey knew acutely that what Brian was, he _was_. There was no erasing it, no changing it. Shoving it down and ignoring it only led to misery. So he would support Brian the best he could. Right now, that support looked like getting some food and water in him to keep him from blacking out drunk.

They stepped under the pink-and-teal neon glow of the 24 hour diner and Grey pushed open the door, holding it for Brian. There were only a few other patrons in the establishment, but the air was filled with the smell of bacon, sweet syrup and roasted coffee.

The establishment’s only waitress had a slight blue tinge to her hair. She smiled when she saw them standing by the door. “How many?” she asked, sweeping up to the podium.

John smiled. “Two, thank you.”

She pulled the menus out from the podium then walked them over to a booth by the window. He and Brian sat down from across each other, and they each took a menu from her.

“My name’s Mable and I’ll be your server today.” She cleared her throat. “Can I get you boys started with anything to drink?” Her accent betrayed that she’d likely lived in Boston all her life.

“Water, please. And coffee for us both,” Grey said, wondering what his own accent made her think of him. “Black for me, and…”

Brian’s head tilted up and he gave Mabel a lopsided grin. “Four creams and three sugars.”

“Jesus, kid.” Four creams _and_ three sugars? He would have diabetes by the time he was Grey’s age.

Brian just shrugged and threw an arm out over the vinyl booth. He truly was still drunk. He hoped Mable came with that water and coffee quickly. 

With the debris of creamer and sugar packets laid out on the tabletop between them, Brian sipped his coffee. He sat the chipped cup down and asked. “So, um, does Jamie know? That you’re… gay?”

A knot twisted in Grey’s chest. That was complicated. Yes, Jamie knew. He’d known since Grey was fresh out of the Academy and so goddamn fucking stupid he was surprised he’d lived through it. He’d hoped time made him wiser, but there were days he wasn’t so sure.

“He does.” Grey managed.

Brian’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing. There was a slight tilt to his head that made him look like a curious puppy.

“What?” Grey asked, after a bitter sip of his own.

“I don’t know.” Brian rubbed at the back of his neck. “I know I don’t know him super well, but I kind of got the feeling that he would not be okay with it.”

Jamie Fraser was six foot four inches of tough. Even in prison, he’d commanded the respect of the other prisoners and of the guards. When Grey thought of Fraser, he thought of wildfires, of hot lava. It was only their years of friendship and his absolute certainty he’d committed none of the crimes he was accused of that kept a much smarter Grey from being terrified of him. And, sometimes, even then…

“I’m not sure I’d say he’s okay with it,” Grey replied, not wanting to give Brian any false hope or bad ideas. “I’d say he’s willing to overlook it. At least with me, he was. Eventually.”

Brian frowned, staring into his coffee cup. “Probably wouldn’t be the case with his only son though…”

Before Grey could respond to Brian, the waitress reappeared at their table with their orders. He’d forced Brian to not order the sugary nightmare maple pecan pancakes he’d wanted and get a plate of bacon, eggs and toast instead. Grey had just gotten the toast for himself.

“Thank you, Mable,” he said, and Brian echoed the sentiment.

When Mable was out of earshot, Grey spoke up again, “Jamie cares about you a great deal. More than you know. He feels incredibly grateful that he has a chance to get to know you now.”

It had taken Jamie a while to open up to him about Brian. That he had a son out there with a woman he loved who returned to her first husband upon his being incarcerated. It was hard to talk about what he’d lost, Grey had seen that even then. It had been the one request he’d ever made to Grey. 

_“In exchange, if you want, I would be willing to…”_ Grey could still hear the low vulnerability of Fraser’s voice even now. “… _if you want.”_

He had wanted. But he had said no. Of course, he had said no. Making love to someone under those circumstances. It would have only broken them both. Still, he had agreed to Fraser’s request to make a trip to a Boston suburb where he tracked down Frank and Claire Randall. 

Brian wouldn’t know this, but that was actually the first time Grey had ever seen him. He was standing in the backyard wearing a tablecloth cape and a paper plate mask humming the theme song from Adam West’s Batman series.

He looked like a normal American kid, living a normal American kid’s life. That was all Jamie Fraser wanted to know and he could tell him that.

When he did, Jamie had punched Grey in the ribs, grabbed his uniform and pulled them both to the ground. Then, just inches from Grey, Jamie sat on the floor of his cell and cried.

In the present, Brian’s attention was focused on the loose cap of the salt shaker he kept trying to tighten. “He’s a hard nut to crack, my father.”

Grey laughed to himself, then said louder, “You’re telling me.”

They chatted warmly while finishing up their food and coffee. He could tell Brian was still tipsy, with the way he wobbled in the booth and would smile and laugh too easily at the things that Grey would say, When they were done, Grey paid the check and left Mable a large tip.

Suddenly, Brian noticed something over Grey’s shoulder, then jolted up from his seat. Brian grabbed John by the sleeve of his leather jacket and pulled him out of the booth. “John, John. Come here.” 

John allowed himself to be dragged across the linoleum floor to the arcade game stashed away in the corner of the diner.

“This was my favorite game in high school,” Brian announced brightly.

“Space Invaders?”

“Yeah, have you ever played?”

Grey shook his head. “I can’t say that I have.” 

“You have to try it. I’ll show you how.” Brian fished into his back pocket and pulled out a teal wallet with a purple pleather stripe across it. As Brian opened the wallet, Grey was met with the familiar sound of velcro. Brian was digging into it, presumably for some coins, when a waterfall of condom wrappers cascaded onto the floor.

Brian let out a stream of curses as he knelt down, scrabbling on the floor to hide the evidence in his pockets. 

As Grey stared down dumbfounded, he counted six condoms. _Six._ What the hell?

He bit down on the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. 

Brian stood up and stared back at him with wide, terrified eyes. His mouth gaped a few times and then he forced out, “Any chance we can forget that just happened?”

“I…” Grey squinted. “…reckon that’s for the best. Yes.”

Blushing brightly, Brian slipped a quarter into the arcade machine and started to play. His agile and practiced hands made quick work of the game and when he easily defeated the level, he was preening. 

“You see how I did that?”

“Uhh,” John said. He most definitely did not see. He’d been a bit, well, distracted.

Brian shoved him forward. “Your turn.”

Overall, John Grey spent about three dollars trying to beat a single damn level without any success. Brian--the little shit--was bent over, near howling with laughter. 

“How are you _so_ terrible at this? Weren’t you in the air force or something?” Brian let out another bellowing laugh. “We’re shit out of luck if there’s an alien invasion.”

Grey shot him a sharp glare. “In that case, all the arcade geeks will just have to step forward and enlist.”

Brian put a hand to chest, looking mock-offended. “Did you just call me a geek?”

“You insulted me first.” Grey leaned in, something thrilled through him and it was terrifying and wonderful and wonderfully terrifying. “I was in the Army. Not the Air Force.”

After Brian was finished crushing Grey at Space Invaders, they left behind the homey shelter of the diner for the dark, smog-laden streets of Boston. There were others walking by them, though not nearly the foot traffic seen in the daytime. They passed old historic homes tucked in between gaudy high-rises, passed pubs with buzzing neon in the windows, breathed in the savory scents of late night Italian take-out. Despite being a large city that Grey knew intimately was filled with crime and poverty, tonight he found it difficult to think about lurking dangers, his mind instead filled with bright, warm possibility. 

They managed nearly a block in swaying, comfortable silence when Brian looked over at him thoughtfully. “You said Jamie knows you’re gay, but does your family know?”

Grey rarely talked about this and it surprised him how comfortable he felt replying under the private shelter of the evening. “My brother does. I think my mum has an idea, but she’s never said anything, and my father died when I was a child.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian said in the way that only people who know the pain of it can say it.

“I’m sorry about your father too,” Grey replied. “I’ve heard from your mother that he was a good man.”

“He was. I could never bring myself to tell him and sometimes, now that’s he gone, I wish I would’ve. I think he may have understood.”

“Is there anyone you’ve told?”

“No.” Brian shook his head. “You’re… you’re the first person. Though my best friend Phaedra probably knows. She’s really freaking smart and never bothers me about girlfriends like other people do, but she’s never actually said anything about it.”

“I hope you know I would never say anything either, not even to your father.”

“Thanks.” Brian yawned, hands tucked into his acid wash jeans. “Can I tell you something else?” His voice was quiet, more serious than it had been before. ‘I’ve never been kissed. I mean there was this girl, Cindy, during a game of spin the bottle like sophomore year. But isn’t it pathetic! I’m twenty and I’ve never been kissed. Not really. Not once.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Grey assured him because it wasn’t, though he was familiar with the insecurity. The fear of not doing ‘it’ right. Whatever ‘it’ was. Whatever ‘right’ was. “It happens at all different times in your life, earlier isn’t always better, and sometimes it never happens at all, and there’s nothing wrong with that. The benefit I’ve seen in my life—though God knows there are many drawbacks—but the benefit of being like us, gay, is that we get to create our own rules and timelines for our lives. There’s no predetermined role to fit into.”

Brian, who was walking ahead of him now, turned around. His soft bottom lip pouted out. “I mean, sure, like you’re right and all, but I just really want to be _kissed_. Like knock your socks off, hit it out of the ballpark, seeing stars, Cupid struck me in the heart, kind of kissed.”

“You and me both, kid.” Grey laughed. It had been years since he’d been kissed like that. With that dizzying mix of desire and care and something unnameable that made the rest of the world disappear like a blown out candle. 

They walked together down the street, shoulders occasionally bumping. The lights cast a warm glow over them and the air smelled of smog and savory cooking from the smoke pumping out of the late night take-out joints. Cars rumbled down the road, but it was late enough that it was mostly silent and the noises faded to a comfortable hum in the background.

They arrived at a crosswalk and Grey pushed the button to go west, which would take them eventually to Jamie’s apartment.

Brian blocked Grey’s path with his body. “Don’t take me to mom’s.”

“Brian.” He sighed.

“You can’t.” Brian sniffed his t-shirt. “I still kind of smell Long Island Iced Tea. She’ll kill me. You know how scary she can be.”

Grey frowned. He did know and he understood why Brian wouldn’t want to go back to Jamie and Claire’s, dressed like that, and reeking of sickly sweet alcohol. “Why were you drinking that anyway? That shit will knock you on your arse.”

“I don’t know.” Brian shrugged, his wide mouth tipped into a smile. “No one taught me how to order alcohol.”

“Because you’re too young to be drinking at a club.” Grey tried to sound exasperated, but he knew he sounded more fond than exasperated. He’d only had a single glass of wine this evening. However, he still worried it was going to his head. Or maybe that was just a convenient excuse for whatever was currently fluttering in his chest.

“They gave it to me. I didn’t even have to show ID.”

Grey rolled his eyes. “Of course they did. Have you _seen_ yourself?” he mumbled, then his eyes went wide and he realized what he’d said. “Brian… I didn’t mean…” he tried to backpedal.

Brian’s mouth dropped open, but he was still smiling a lopsided smile and his cheeks were a warm, rose pink in the streetlight. “Ooo, you have a crush on me.”

“I absolutely do not,” Grey protested, his face warm. If he thought Jamie Fraser was infuriating, he had nothing on his ridiculous flirt of a son.

“You _do_. You think I’m cute.” Brian playfully hit Grey’s chest, then, wobbling, hopped up on the curb and sang, “John and Brian sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes loves, then comes… oof.”

Grey grabbed Brian’s wrist, pulled him off the curb into his arms and kissed him. Just to shut him up, dammit. But with his mouth on Brian’s, Grey’s feet felt cold and he thought of beer at the Red Sox game, of Orion and Ursa Minor, of Roman gods of love whose arrows always struck their target. 

When he pulled away for air, Brian stumbled back, grinning, looking wonderfully boyish. He picked his arms up like he was pretending to grip a baseball bat and swung, clucking his tongue. The imaginary leather ball clacked against wood, then he whistled, his eyes following that invisible ball as it flew out into the stands. 

Grey shook his head. “How are you _still_ drunk?”

Brian stepped closer to him, leaning in. “I have a very weak constitution,” he whispered.

“Fine.” Grey couldn’t believe he was giving in. Then again, he could. That kiss… well, as Brian’s mother would say, Jesus H Roosevelt Christ. _God, Claire is this boy’s mother._ “You can stay at mine, but absolutely _no_ funny business.” He leveled a serious glare at Brian. “Deal?” He put out a hand, and Brian shook it, but he kept his other arm hidden behind his back. Grey frowned. “Brian, are your fingers crossed behind your back?”

Sure enough, he pulled out his other arm to reveal his crossed fingers. “You’re very observant.”

“It’s all that training I got in the Air Force,” Grey replied, deadpan. 

Grey felt a strange and unwelcome thrill as he opened the door to his townhouse and ushered Brian inside. When he flipped on the light switch, Brian looked around with the sort of rapt attention usually reserved for trips to art museums.

Brian looked back over his shoulder at him as he moved farther inside. “You have a really nice place.”

It had taken a few years to put it all together, at first living with just the bare minimum of things. Even with the money he had, it had never felt like home, though. Eventually, he’d just gone out and hired someone to decorate. That’s what his mother had always done.

“Thank you,” he said politely. Grey took off his leather jacket and hung it in the closet.

Then, Brian gave him a look. It startled him. He’d thought Brian had been impressed, but now he wasn’t so sure. Could he tell? And so quickly? That this place, as nice as it was, had been bought directly from a catalog. “You’re like… rich, aren’t you? Like _actually_ wealthy?”

“My parents are.” Grey sighed. “My brother is. I’m… I’m just a missing persons detective.”

Brian picked up a strange statue from the bookshelf then promptly put it back down, his dislike of the thing obvious by the twitched grimace on his face.

“Is that how you met Jamie?”

The fact that Brian knew to ask that made him shiver. Jamie had been convicted of several counts of rape and murder, though he’d always maintained his innocence. It took fourteen years, but eventually, they’d found the DNA evidence linking those rapes and murders to the BlackJack Killer and he’d been exonerated. 

“Actually no. It’s not. I met Jamie… well, if he hasn’t told you then I’m not sure I should. But then, I do reckon you realize your father was in…” Grey looked down at the floor.

“Prison. Yeah.” Brian grinned at him, leaning against a wall. He nearly knocked off a painting. He adjusted it, then less confidently continued on, “What? Are you an ex-con too?”

“No, uh, I actually worked as a prison guard at the time.”

Brian’s mouth dropped. “Jesus, your whole thing with Jamie really _is_ complicated.”

It was far more complicated than Grey cared to explain. Ever, to anyone, especially Jamie’s ridiculously sexy son, who he could just not help but smile around—and that was not a thought for right now… and that kiss… also, not a thought for right the fuck now. 

Grey sat down on his sofa as he watched Brian explore his living room. Then, Brian dropped down suddenly, sitting crossed legged on his floor. The position pulled his jeans down far enough that it exposed a small section of skin beneath his sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” Grey asked, mouth suddenly dry. 

He slid open the door to the cabinet beneath his record player. “Checking your music collection. Got to see if it’s shit or not.” Brian threw a cheeky grin over his left shoulder. “I swear to God if I see one Air Supply album.”

Grey had no Air Supply to speak of, but he did have some ABBA and Wham!’s most recent album. There was also Led Zeppelin, Queen, Foghat, the Beatles. He had no idea what Brian’s musical taste consisted of, and he knew he was a bit… behind the times. He didn’t even own a cassette player. 

Brian slid one of the records from the cabinet. He didn’t get a good look at the cover, so he wasn’t sure what Brian had chosen. 

Olivia Newton-John’s voice filled the room. “ _I’m saying all the things that I know you’ll like, making good conversation.”_

Brian’s head was bopping ridiculously and Grey could barely contain his laughter. “This is your idea of… not shit?”

He was attempting a very inadequate moonwalk across the floor as he said, “It’s your album, man. So judgement has been cast on us both.”

Brian shimmied, and did the twist, which decidedly did not go with the music. He reached out one of his finely crafted hands and said, “John… Dance with me.”

Grey stayed still, gritting his teeth to spite the honeyed warmth moving through him. “Didn’t we have a deal about funny business?”

Brian grabbed Grey’s hand tight and tugged, like a pretty puppy pulling on a toy rope. “I would never agree to a deal that would keep me from dancing. When I feel the rhythm, man. It’s beyond my control.”

“You’re utterly ridiculous.” Grey rolled his eyes, but gave in, standing and letting Brian lead him into the open space of his living room.

Brian’s hand was in his, as Brian toed those over-the-top pump sneakers off his feet, leaving him in a pair of bright white gym socks with deep blue toes. Brian gave him a look that requested Grey do the same. He nudged off his loafers and kicked them into a pile with Brian sneakers.

Brian threw his arms over Grey’s shoulders, around his neck, and started swaying his body. It managed impossibly to be languid and sexy and downright hilarious all at the same time.

He resisted briefly, but then settled his hands on the crest of Brian’s hipbones and if occasionally, their bodies would slide against each other that was just a natural consequence of the music.

Seamlessly, it no longer felt like a natural consequence, it felt like something they were both driving each other to with each move, with each touch. Brian—goddamn the kid—kept nuzzling his nose against Grey’s. Grey would back up, but it would only last for a moment before he gave in, moved closer. Because he was a terrible, terrible man and Brian’s silly Pac-Man watch kept skimming over his bare neck, making him shiver.

And when Brian stole a feathery kiss, he let him. He managed not to kiss him back, but after the second time and the third and the hot fire way it seared in his belly… he could not help it any longer. He was kissing Brian Randall back, damn it all, and kissing him hard and deep.

So much for no funny business. 

Brian met his mouth with equal force and without thinking much about it at all, Grey stumbled back onto the sofa.

Brian straddled Grey, their lips moving warmly together. Each kiss felt like the prelude to the next, and it was so simple to just lick into Brian’s mouth, taste smoky bacon and coffee and remnants of those Long Island Iced Teas. His hands slid up Brian’s back over the smooth flat of his sweatshirt to the nape of his neck. His hair felt soft on Grey’s fingertips, almost like feathers. 

Grey slid his kiss from Brian’s lips to the delicate skin on his neck. An urge came over him to suck, to mark, to leave behind a bruise that would tell anyone who saw Brian that someone, that _he_ , had made his claim.

“You’re a really good kisser,” Brian mumbled against his mouth.

Grey smiled and stole another kiss. “How would you know?”

Brian glared at him. Grey did the only thing he could and kissed him right in the spot where his brow furrowed. With a hand, Brian pushed him back against the sofa and dipped in for another deep kiss.

Heart pounding, Grey held Brian even tighter to his body, then slid his hands under the sweatshirt. He wanted to feel the soft warm skin, the wonderful ridges of spine and rib. He moved his touch around to Brian’s belly and the line of hair under his navel and Brian moaned in Grey’s mouth, wiggling his ass directly on Grey’s dick.

On instinct, Grey dug his nails into Brian’s back and nipped at his lips, rocking upwards. Brian may not have much experience, but he still responded by grinding against him. When Grey kissed down his soft chin, to his neck, over the lovely swell of his Adam’s apple, he got a view of the bulge in Brian’s jeans.

God help Grey, he wanted his mouth around it or wanted Brian’s mouth around him. Yes, Brian’s mouth around him. Those big, unpracticed lips moving up and down his prick, warm eyes looking up to him for guidance.

When Grey thoughtlessly bucked up into Brian again, he leaned their foreheads together and they were breathing into each other’s mouths. Grey could feel Brian’s hardness pressing against his belly as he rocked up against soft, yielding cheeks. 

They should probably stop. This wasn’t what he’d intended when they’d started kissing again, though he hadn’t intended them to kiss at all. Still, fuck, still, this was Jamie Fraser’s son… his best friend’s son… what the fuck was he—

Brian let out a broken, edible noise as he bit down on Grey’s shoulder. Gasping for breath, he managed, “Fuck. Shit. Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t…” as he scrambled back.

“What’s wrong?”

Brian’s cheeks were nearly a neon pink and his eyes were looking everywhere but at Grey.

“Oh God, I’m such a loser.”

Grey’s eyebrows raised as he realized what had happened. A smile tugged at his lips. “You… came? Just from that?”

Brian rolled off his lap and buried his face in the arm of the couch. “Shut up,” he said, the words muffled by the fabric. 

“That’s… nothing be ashamed of?” Grey didn’t mean for his voice to tilt the statement up at the end, but it did.

Brian groaned. “Oh my God. You don’t have to phrase it like a question.”

Grey laughed. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

Brian gave him an incredulous but interested look. “You’ll have to give me at least twenty minutes. Or I can like...” He very crudely mimicked giving a blow job, which was… an interesting suggestion to say the least, but no. He shouldn’t. He _really_ shouldn’t. They’d already taken this much too far.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant you can’t go around in sticky pants all night. Come on.”

“I can’t move. I’m dead. From the embarrassment.”

“Well, darling,” Grey wasn’t sure where the pet name came from or why he’d been bold enough to say it. “Will you rise from your grave for a pair of my clean underwear?”

Grinning, Brian was on his feet immediately—a perfectly, beautifully, resurrected man. 

When Brian came out of Grey’s bedroom in the shirt he’d given him to sleep in, Grey’s mouth went dry and his knees wobbled beneath him. Brian was barefoot and bare legged, pale freckled skin beneath soft red hair. He had on the pair of green boxer briefs Grey had let him borrow and his chest was covered by Grey’s worn, grey police academy t-shirt. He hadn’t been able to see the boy’s arms under that silly sweatshirt but he’d felt them and now that he could see them, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way they rippled with the lithe muscles of youth. Grey swallowed through an impossibly tight throat.

Just like that, Brian wandered up to him and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. “Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes.”

Grey just nodded, unable to form words, with the taste of his own toothpaste on his tongue, fed to him straight from Brian’s mouth.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Brian whispered in his ear, accompanied by a quiet whine that went right between Grey’s legs.

_Say no. Say no._

“I guess. You _are_ way too long and gangly for the sofa.”

Grey had heard the saying ‘like a cat who got the cream’ many times in his life, but until this moment, looking at Brian, he wasn’t sure he’d fully appreciated the accuracy of it.

When Grey stepped into the dim light of his bedroom, he nearly had a heart attack. There on his floor by the dresser were a pair of leopard print cum-soaked bikini briefs. Brian had been wearing _those._ This _whole_ time? _Fuck._ His vision when(went) black in spots, and he gripped the wall to not fall over. 

Grey cleared his throat. “Brian?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

His eyes went down to the leopard print fabric. “You have very… exotic taste in undergarments.”

“What?” he sighed. “Oh I thought. Well… I thought that was like what I was supposed to wear.”

“Why?”

“I thought that’s what gay men wore, okay?” Brian sputtered out quickly. “I wanted to blend in…”

“You would blend in very well, Brian. At the zoo.” 

Brian sat on the edge of Grey’s bed, sticking out his bottom lip, pouting. It looked a little like Grey might have actually hurt his feelings, which was so far from what he had intended. He was mostly trying to find the humor in it, so as to not find it absolutely fucking hot—which it was—pretty much objectively. 

Grey walked over to the bed and brushed back the loose curls on Brian’s forehead, then kissed him there. Then, he moved that kiss down directly between his eyes, to the delicate curve of his nose, then to his lips.

Brian yawned. “You should change. Unless you normally sleep in your jeans.”

“I’m not changing in front of you.”

“Okay, prude.”

“I’m not a prude. I’m just not a stripper.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Alright, weirdo. I’ll shield my eyes.” He threw one of his big hands over his face, but very obviously left a space between two of his fingers to peek through.

_If that’s how you want to play this…_

Grey slowly unbuttoned his red shirt one button at a time, then slid it off his shoulders letting it fall to the floor. Brian hissed, which only bolstered Grey’s confidence when he unbuttoned his jeans and slowly slid down the zipper. He pivoted on his heel then bent down, sticking his ass out as best as he could as he tugged his jeans down and off.

“You. Suck,” Brian said, then the mattress squeaked loudly as he fell back against it hard.

Grey never could manage to sleep with a shirt on, but he needed something other than a thin pair of boxer-briefs if he was going to be sleeping in the same bed as Brian. He pulled on a pair of silk pajama bottoms.

Grey got into bed and Brian turned off the side table lamp with a quick flick of his fingers, submerging them into a private darkness. 

It felt comfortable somehow, though he didn’t quite know how. This boy was practically a stranger, and he was definitely Jamie Fraser’s son. Though despite their looks, there wasn’t much of the Scot to be found in this deeply American kid who loved Space Invaders and put way too much of that shitty parmesan on his pizza, who smelled like freshly cut grass and reminded him of summer days and baseball games.

Brian shifted closer to him in the bed, but then his nose rubbed gently against Grey’s, shocking the air out of him. He ghosted his lips over his mouth then up his cheek to the shell of his ear, kissing the sensitive skin beneath. 

Before he could think to stop it, Brian rolled his body on top of Grey’s and attacked his neck with an insistent, wet mouth. He couldn’t help but grow hard again, quickly, with the man on top of him, his own hardness rubbing into Grey’s.

He wanted to tear the clothes off of him, get him completely bare and naked. Wanted to kiss all the soft places, all the hard places, he could find on Brian’s body. He wanted to hold the boy down and spread his legs and eat him out until he was whining and whimpering on his tongue, begging to be dicked down the way he deserved.

But when Brian started kissing his way down Grey’s bare chest, his intent clear, panic shocked through him and he spat.

“Brian, your father—“

Brian let out a frustrated groan. “Talking about my dad is such a boner killer.”

“That’s my precise intention,” Grey replied. “He really will have my neck. I don’t think he'd particularly care whether or not he ended up back in prison.”

With a groan, Brian rolled off Grey’s lap and sank onto the bed beside him. “Why does he get any say in this? I’m an adult, and I only met him like four months ago.”

“Yes, well,” Grey worried his bottom lip. “I’ve known your father for over a decade. If he found out I was shagging his son…”

Brian rolled his eyes. “We weren’t ‘shagging’.”

Grey looked over at the young man. His red curls were even messier than before. Grey’s hands had taken care of that. His soft mouth was pink, wet and swollen. Grey had taken care of that too. He remembered the warm feel of his stomach as he’d skimmed his hands under that sweatshirt.

“You want to.” _I do too,_ he thought. Though it didn’t matter. He couldn’t.

“No shit Sherlock.” Brian scooted in, trying to return to his perch on Grey’s lap.

He wanted to let Brian, do as he was attempting to do, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Grey blocked Brian with a hand. “As tempting as you are, I think you’ve had plenty of firsts tonight.” 

. . .

Instead of fucking, they laid beside each other, a light from across the street faintly glowing in through tawny curtains. John’s comforter was tucked up around Brian’s nose. It smelled like fresh detergent and the faint woodsy smokiness of John’s cologne. They laid there, together, in silence at first, but then, Brian wasn’t known for keeping his mouth shut and so they ended up talking. 

Talking about the things Brian didn’t talk about very much. Like the way he used to cry before all his exams. Both his parents were so smart and he was never sure he really was. Or how he wishes he’d have gone to Stanford with Phaedra, how neither of them ever took off the friendship bracelets they’d made for each other freshman year. How he’d never been more nervous than when he’d met Jamie for the first time. How he didn’t know how to react when the sight of him made the big man’s knees buckle or how Jamie had pulled him into his arms and spoke unintelligible Gaelic into his ears. And Brian wasn’t the only one who talked. 

John shared things too. Like how he loved his brother, but sometimes Hal was an asshole and he was glad he’d come to America and hadn’t seen him in years. How terrified he’d been when he’d first been sent to work in the prison, how hard it was to ignore the slurs being spat at him. He mentioned his ex-boyfriend Percy and how he’d never felt more humiliated than when he and two of his coworkers had walked in on him fucking some other guy. About this missing persons case that had been frustrating him for nearly a year. How he’d ran out of things to say to the girl’s parents. 

Brian is pretty sure he fell asleep half way through telling John about the time he and Phaedra snuck into see _Halloween_ and he slept with the lights on for a week.

When Brian woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to realize where he was. He wasn’t in his dorm with his roommate that always smelled like cheap incense. And he wasn’t in his room at his mom and Jamie’s either. This duvet over him certainly cost a lot more than the Thundercats one he’d had since 8th grade. He rolled over to see John sleeping beside him. His mouth was slacked open slightly and he was dragging in quiet, small snores that made Brian smile.

He could barely believe his luck. Brian had gone out trying to get laid just to get laid because he felt like it was _time._ Instead, he’d ended up here. In this incredibly comfortable bed, next to a man that had made his heart flip. A strange sensation that had been happening from the first moment John arrived at Mom and Jamie’s. His perfect face and arms and ass had distracted Brian from a very important level of Mario Bros. The fucker. 

Brian found himself smiling and that was the first thing Grey must’ve seen when he woke up because his soft eyes were fluttering open and there was Brian, looking over at him.

“Good morning,” John said, yawning.

“Morning.” Brian gently kicked John’s foot with his own. “Don’t tell anyone, but I like waking up next to you.”

John just shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Brian gave him another little shove with his leg, but this time John caught his leg with quick hands. Brian’s knee brushed against John’s morning wood and Brian drew in a sharp breath.

John sounded like he was about to choke.

“Oops,” Brian said, grinning once he regained composure. He scooted forward and rubbed his leg against John’s bulge again, which only made his own twitch. 

“Oops, my arse.”

Brian scooted in, nipped at John’s warm lips—morning breath be damned. “It’s sexy when you say arse.”

Grey breathed “ _arse_ ” against his lips.

Brian swallowed the word with his mouth against Grey’s, pressing a tongue into the warmth. It made him shiver all over as they kissed deeper and deeper. 

“Can I touch you?” Grey whispered in his ear.

“You’re already touching me.”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course he did, but after turning him down so many times, would it be a crime for Brian to make the man work for it a little? “I don’t know that I do.”

John bit his ear, then growled darkly, “Can I touch your cock, you little brat?”

Brian just grinned, grabbed John’s hand and brought it between his legs. The touch, however, the warm, wonderful pressure of someone else’s hand against him for the first time, melted him, made him speechless for the first time in, well, ever.

And, then, John slid his hand into Brian’s underwear and flesh met flesh. He nearly sobbed, burying his face into the crook of John’s neck and just letting him _touch._

“Stop,” Brian finally managed. “Stop. I want to see you. I want you to see me, please.”

He could see John swallow and nod, then he nudged Brian up so he was sitting and worked his t-shirt off.

“You’re… beautiful,” John said, blinking. “The most beautiful thing I’ve… I mean.”

Brian kissed him, then hooked his fingers under John’s waistbands, and helped him work his underwear and his silk pajama bottoms off admiring each newly revealed inch of skin as it was laid out before him.

He glanced back up to see a sight that nearly made him pass out. The swell of heavy, tight balls and John’s long, uncut cock dripping and red curved up towards his belly.

_Jesus fuck, I really am gay. I knew that, but Jesus fuck._

Brian climbed back up John’s legs and stared down at the length, his mouth watering for it. He was nervous though. He could totally suck and ruin the mood and... 

“If you want to.... I can talk you through it, love.” 

He breathed out a shaky breath over the tip, which made it twitch expectantly. He nodded. 

“If you get your mouth wet and lick your lips it helps. “

Brian did as instructed, then looked back up to John’s face for more support. 

“Just put your mouth on it, watch your teeth and use your tongue as much as you can.”

“Here goes nothing,” he said, then let his mouth be filled with John Grey’s thick cock.

It felt so good to be filled in that way, stretched his cheeks aching as John encouraged him with gentle praises— _just like that, so good, Jesus Christ, kid—_ and even when John had to correct him, he was so patient about it, it made Brian warmer than hot tea. Brian wanted to keep going until he could feel John come undone in his mouth, until he could drink him down and feel the man warm in his belly. But there was something he wanted so much, so deeply, he couldn’t separate that want from a need.

“I need my wallet.”

John laughed. “You don’t have to pay me.”

Brian frowned and slugged him gently in the gut. “I’m getting you a condom, asshole.”

“Just hold your horses, kid,” John said, holding him back. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Oh come on. Why not?” Brian whined. “It’s not like I haven’t had stuff up there before.”

“What ‘stuff’?”

“I’m not telling you.” Brian felt himself flush at the memories. “You’ll make fun of me.”

Grey placed his finger against Brian’s wrist and hooked his finger under the worn string of Phaedra’s friendship bracelet. “I’m already making fun of you.”

“Ugh,” Brian rolled onto his back. He could not believe he was about to admit this, but if there was any chance this could bolster his pro-fucking agenda, he’d try. “So, like, for my birthday. Phaedra—my best friend, remember—she got me this toy lightsaber after _Jedi_ came out. The light died in it like immediately but… I found other uses for it.”

“Sweet Jesus. You fucked yourself with a lightsaber.”

Brian propped himself up on an arm. “Yeah, and you’re not nearly as girthy.”

“Far be it from me, to doubt your ability to take cock, but this isn’t entirely about that.”

“What is it about then?”

. . .

It was about so many things. So many things that weren’t his to tell him and some that were, but he was just too much of a coward to manage it. Mostly it was about this low settled feeling in the pit of his stomach that in nearly forty years, Grey was damn certain he’d never felt before. Peace, he ventured to think, stupidly, ridiculously, but _peace._ Like he was coming home from a war he hadn’t even realized he’d been fighting. Mostly, he just really, really liked Brian and couldn’t bear the thought of just being his… safe, gay tryout. It wasn’t fair or rational, but he couldn’t bear the thought that Brian, with those six condoms in his wallet, would’ve been just as happy to go home with another guy at the Beefsteak.

Brian was young and gorgeous and Jamie’s son. He was this bright, hot thing that felt out of reach despite being here, warm and pliant under his hands. 

He couldn’t say any of this, so Grey looked down at Brian hands, then back up at him. He reached forward and tapped the ring on Brian’s hand. “What is this?”

“So, we’re changing the subject?”

“For now.”

“It’s a decoder ring. I got it out of a box of cereal, and I don’t know. I just wear it.”

Grey took Brian’s hands in his, rubbing a thumb over Brian’s toy ring. He squeezed. “Your first time should be with someone you like.”

“I like you,” Brian said easily.

“You know what I mean.” _Just make this easy on me dammit._

“I do. And I like you like _that_.”

Grey laughed. “That’s the hormones talking.”

Brian punched his arm. “I’m twenty. Not sixteen, douche. And I _do_ like you. I’ve liked you ever since Jake the Pizza King’s. You were wearing that stupid sweater that looked like a yarn factory exploded and then we had to squish in the back of Jamie’s car. You smelled so good and I kept putting my hand between us in hopes you’d accidentally lay yours down on top of mine.”

Grey raised an eyebrow. “Ooo, you have a crush on me.”

Brian didn’t smile the way Grey expected nor did he toss back a playful grin of his own. Instead, his face grew serious and let out a breath through his nose. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

That was a shock. Brain had been raring to go all night and then this. “Are you alright?”

“I do,” Brian said, voice shaking but still serious. “Have a crush on you. And… I think it might kind of suck if we do this and I’m just some random lay to you. So…”

Grey blinked, astonished, unable to find words. 

Brian sighed, then started to slide off the bed. Grey caught his arm. “Wait… please. I… this, us, it is not wise, but I do like you, Brian Randall. I didn’t accidentally lay my hand down on top of yours in your father’s car that day because I was acutely aware that yours was there and that you had a wonderful, lopsided smile and you smelled like green apple shampoo and, sure, you were wearing a _Harry and the Hendersons_ t-shirt, but God help me, all I could think about was taking it off you and not just because it was hideous.” 

There it was. That smile that was better than morning sun streaming in through the window. The tension released and Grey was easily able to keep Brian in bed with him. Things hadn’t changed. This boy was still nearly seventeen years younger than him, still inexperienced, still Jamie Fraser’s fucking son, but he was bright and he was beautiful and sometimes… sometimes you just know when you’re looking at the rest of your life. 

Grey nipped softly at Brian’s lips, then rolled his body on top of him. “I don’t want to hold back with you anymore.”

Brian bucked his hips up as best he could though he was pinned by Grey’s body. “Don’t then.”

. . .

Brian was naked and poised over Grey, when a silly idea met a giddy impulse. He’d leaned down, kissed the man on the mouth, then said, “Hold on.”

Grey groaned and tried to grab at Brian to stop him from going, but Brian escaped his grasp.

“I have something I need to do,” Brian said.

“What could you possibly have to do right now?”

Brian just laughed and walked out of the bedroom. He headed down the hallway, but stopped short of the living room. He was totally naked and he remembered the drapes were still pulled back from the window. He opened the coat closet and pulled out John’s coat he’d been wearing earlier. He slipped it over his shoulders, though it wasn’t really long enough to help. Still, Brian hunched in a vague attempt to cover himself and just hoped no one was watching.

As quickly as he could, he grabbed the record he remembered seeing earlier and hurried back to John’s bedroom.

“Why are you wearing my jacket?” John’s voice cracked on the word.

“The window’s open. I was trying to protect my modesty.” 

John’s gaze dipped down to the space between his thighs. “I hate to inform you, but that is _not_ protecting your modesty.”

Brian rolled his eyes and started to take off the leather jacket. 

“Don’t,” John said darkly. “Leave it on.”

Something pinched in Brian’s cheeks and he grinned broadly, turning away to hide it. He put the record on and turned it to the song he’d been looking for.

“ _Slow ride, take it easy”_ rose into the room, filling it with a warm, gravelly sound.

“Slow?” John laughed. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Brian flipped him off. “Dick.”

John laughed again and that was it, Brian was going to shut the bastard up. He practically flung himself onto the bed, straddling John’s hips and crushed his mouth into a hot, wet kiss.

As they were kissing, John fumbled into the drawer of his side table and pushed Brian back so he could tear the wrapper open with his teeth. He braced a hand on Brian’s back, then breathed into his ear. “Put it on me.”

With shaking hands, Brian took the condom and slid it down over John’s cock. He shivered, knowing where it would soon be.

John braced a hand on his side, right above the blooming bruise on his ribs. “You sure?”

Brian nodded. “Totally.”

“Good. Because I’ve never wanted to be inside someone so badly in my life.”

“And that’s like a big deal because you’re so ol—“

John clasped a hand over Brian’s mouth shutting him up. “Put up or shut up, kid.”

Brian grinned beneath the warm hand. _Put up,_ he thought deliriously. _Definitely put up._

It had been a while since the incident with the lightsaber and though Brian had poured so much lube onto John’s cock that it could enter a slip and slide contest, taking him in, _all_ the way in, was still a-fucking-lot. 

He focused on the music— _Slow ride, take it easy—_ singing the words quietly to himself as he worked through it, sweating, wrapped up in all that dark leather.

Brian found himself pausing and gasping for air and skimming his hands over as much of John’s skin as he could touch just because it felt safe and familiar and precious. 

“You’re doing so good,” John said, cupping his cheek. 

Brian rocked back down on him, trying to keep his cool, if there was any chance of that. “Eh, you’re not too bad yourself.”

“I imagine I don’t have the same… force… as a lightsaber, but I’m glad it’s working for you.”

“I hate you.”

For the first time, John fucked up into him deep, hitting a spot that felt like lightning. Brian yelped and scrambled on the bed, hands in the sheets.

“No, kid,” he said, grinning, shoving the coat off Brian’s shoulders and throwing it to the floor. “I don’t think you do.”

When the music faded, “Slow Ride” coming to an end, John bracketed his leg around Brian’s and flipped him over onto his back. 

That was— _holy shit—_ this was _everything._ Riding John had been great. He couldn’t wait to do it again, but this… he felt _born_ for this. His legs spread, his knees up, John between them fucking him hard, like he craved this just as much as Brian did. 

They kissed. Mouths and necks and ears and collarbones. They touched. Arms and shoulder blades and thighs and spine. Brian had been too afraid he’d come instantly if he touched his cock or let John touch it so he didn’t, but when John was breathing, “So close. Please. _Please._ ” into his ear, he took himself in hand, and let them fall apart into each other, around each other. Together. _Together._

John rolled over, looking blissful after the morning’s activities. He swept warm fingers over Brian’s cheek. “Would you like to know something that no one in my life now knows? Not even your father?” he whispered.

Brian took the opportunity to kiss the tips of John’s fingers. “Definitely.”

“I’m a Lord.”

“You’re a… _what?”_ Brian gaped, not quite sure how to process this information.

“My father was an Earl,” John explained, “which makes my older brother a duke, which makes me—”

“A Lord?”

“Yes.”

Brian pinched the sheets and tugged them up like he was lifting his skirt to curtsey. He put on a bad English accent. “Well, I hope you’ll forgive my insolence this last evening, your highness. I didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty.”

John lowered his voice, leaned in and growled in Brian’s ear. “The proper way to address me is ‘your lordship’. And you shall not be forgiven for your insolence, certainly not without proper punishment.” 

Just to be a little shit, Brian kicked the covers off and threw his ass over John’s legs and popped it up in the air. He mostly expected John to laugh and shove him off. He was surprised—but not unpleasantly—when a large hand came down on him hard.

Brian yelped and didn’t get a chance to say anything before John’s hand came down again on the other cheek.

“Fuck.”

John sank his hands into Brian’s curls and twisted his head to face him. “I’ll stop?”

It was a little strange, Brian figured, that he was sprawled out across John’s legs, his ass stinging from his hand. Was it wrong the way it made him feel? Warm, wanted, safe… horny as hell? Did he care if it was wrong?

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Brian said, lifting his ass a little.

John laughed darkly under his breath, then said, “Good boy.” His hand came down again, hard and quick, and Brian was so goddamn happy that for the first time in his life, that he was here and alive and gay. So very fucking gay. 


End file.
